Ignorance is Bliss
Chapter 2: White Knight's Detour
Spike groaned into the leather clad cradle of his arm letting the stringent scents of the bar-top fill his sensitive nostrils. A hulking human stood on the other side of the bar, wiping glasses with a bored expression on his pudgy face. He lazily pulled the empty bottle from Spike's grasp.
The ensouled vampire lifted his head, his eyes murky with what any other person would assume to be exhaustion. They would only be half right. Spike was tired alright, tired of good and bad and love, tired of the struggle and dance. He knew that he would want it back one day, but not now, hopefully not in her lifetime. Buffy had wanted the fighter over the poet, and that had only gotten him dusted. The resurrection bit had landed him on Angel's doorstep, ready to brawl. Now, he just wanted to get as smashed as unhumanly possible.
"Another one of those, mate. If possible, an even crappier beer, imported this time. After all, I am an equal opportunity drunk."
The bartender glared at him for a moment, unaware that he was casting the evil eye at one of the undead. Nevertheless, he had been at the job for long enough to know a drunk from someone drowning in self pity. He shook his head. Another thing he knew was that the punk in front of him sure as hell could hold his liquor. "Last one, buddy." With a smirk he added, "At the rate you're going, you'll clean me out of the cheap stuff by daybreak, when I'll need it for the regulars."
"Ah, day drinkers, they're more pathetic than I am." Spike let a small laugh escape from between his lips. "What about my onion bloom?"
"No food," the human snapped, not for the first time since midnight.
Spike shrugged, tipping back his beer and draining it within a minute. He dropped the bottle back down and stood, half stumbling toward the doorway. He walked out into the night, realizing that the darkness was as silly as a costume, unable to hide the the day that would appear within a few hours. Usually he was snoozing away in a crypt by this time of morning. Damn the twenty-four hour bar.
The bar stool was the closest thing to a home he had at the moment. In fact, he could not even recall the name of the sleepy little town in which he roamed. A fortnight ago, he had fallen asleep inside a train's stock car, trying to escape from the sun's rays. When he'd awoken, he realized that the train was moving and that it had probably been traveling for hours. He'd jumped and walked to the closest cemetery without another thought. The only thing he was certain of was that he was not in L.A. anymore.
Setting didn't matter anyhow. As long as he was alone, away from them, he would be able to live in reasonable peace, as long as his cash held. I could get very use to the drunk vampire routine, especially since I'm already on a liquid diet.
Spike stopped at the street corner, eyes straight in front of him. Two hundred feet away stood a tall, dark shadow.
"Oh my! A mysterious figure!" Spike mused. "Who every could it be? Well, judging from the brooding stoop and the 'intoxicating' scent of nancy boy hair gel, I'll have to say. . ."
Angel walked out into the light of a moth covered street lamp. "I see you haven't staked yourself yet."
"Brilliant deduction, Watson."
"Save it," Angel said. "I'm here for a reason."
"Do I look like I have my red light on, you poofer?" Spike stumbled forward, a his eyes glistening with the drunkard's muse in his head. "What do you want? A trophy? You won the game, mate. You got the girl. What could you possibly want from me?"
Angel frowned. "She wanted me to find you," he said.
Spike raised a brow, urging on his grandsire. "What? Does she need help babysitting while the two of you go on honeymoon—hopefully, somewhere nice and sunny, I might add."
The other vampire gave him a look that clearly stated 'not funny.' "Actually, I was the one who suggested that you would be our best bet. We have a problem. Xander went missing a few days ago from the Cleveland base."
A look of concern swept over Spike's face, but he wiped it off as quickly as it had appeared. "And what? The other scoobies need a mutt to follow his scent?" he asked. "It looks to me like they already have one. Plus, he probably just ran off to elope with a new demon girl."
Angel walked forward. "I couldn't find him. Willow's location spell couldn't find him. . . As much as I really hate saying this, they need your help."
"If you didn't notice, the whelp wasn't a big fan of mine." Spike rubbed his temple, trying to ward off the sobering topic. "The boy was alright by me, but what could I possibly do if Super Witch couldn't find him?"
"We thought you might know something." Angel looked down, his brow furrowed. "We think we know who took him. A few slayers spotted Drusilla in town the night before he disappeared."
"Dru?" Spike breathed.
"I caught a new birdie when I left Daddy's all burnt and patchy," she said faintly, her hypnotic eyes washing over Xander's beaten chest. Drusilla leaned in and licked up a crimson drip that was rolling down him breast. She heard his swift intake of breath and smiled dreamy, her eyes dancing. She enjoyed touching him, teasing him, hurting him. . . He was worth her time.
"It was a pretty singer—its outside was white. And its insides were just as red and pretty as yours." Drusilla frowned. "But she kept opening her dirty little beak. 'Ca! Ca! When? When?' she asked. 'When can I see the one who sees? When will we fetch our white knight?'"
The vampire drew back, her wet, stained lips upturned into a grin.
"Fun story, how about another tale from the psycho ward," Xander snapped.
The effort made him release a rasping cough that shook his body painfully. If felt like there was a fire raging in his lungs. Drusilla's new cronies had surprised him while he was on an emergency run for one of his slayers. He'd expected that they would try to kill him; after all, they were vampires. He dusted two before they beat him down, pounding his rib cage until he'd passed out. He'd inevitably drifted awake a few times, aware that he was moving, but he'd had his lights punched out every time. When Drusilla had finally cooed him to consciousness, he was sure he looked more like a bleeding radish than a man.
"Birdie was very naughty. I told her soon, but she just kept singing and singing until I made her wear her crimson coat." Drusilla pulled at her long brown hair desperately. "If she had been a good girl, I would have let her pet you."
She raked her sharp fingers over Xander's shoulder. He tried to jerk out of her grasp and realized that his arms were tied behind his back.
"What exactly was the moral of the. . ." He screamed as the vampire dug her thumb beneath his collarbone.
"What a nice spot for a picnic," she commented.
"Seriously, you must want something, or I would be a stiff already," Xander panted. "No one's paying ransom for my carpenter butt, and I doubt I'm tasty enough to trouble an expert on demon dining such as you."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Drusilla ran her hand up his cheek, pouting. She reached his eye patch and lifted it gently. The vampire leaned in, her lips against his ear. "I can't see it," she whispered. "I've tried and tried, and it's nagged and nagged like an old mother hen, but I can't see it. But I can see you, my knight, and you can see it for me."
Xander stared at her in confusion. "What, are you more vision impaired than me? Because, I'm seein' two eyes in your head."
"I want you to see," she hissed. "I can see the rivers of blood . . . I've seen them for so long. I can see the pain and hear the beautiful song of anguish. But I can't see who the shadow is . . . I want you to look for the shadow for me. Find him for me, and I'll let you go back and play with your tasty girlies. My knight, all you need to do is see my new master, and tell me his name."
Xander's eye widened. "Master? Listen crazy blood sucking girl, I know nothing about a new master, and the 'fiery end' speech is getting old."
Drusilla lowered her mouth onto his and kissed him deeply, leaving the taste of copper in Xander's mouth. "You will see for me."